


October Pleasantries

by sidekickjoey



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Adorable, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Curtwen, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Flufftober, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, Royalty AU, Soulmate AU, This is an excuse for me to just write soft stories for these boys all month, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26769403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidekickjoey/pseuds/sidekickjoey
Summary: Following a 'flufftober' prompt list to write one incredibly fluffy Curtwen fic a day!
Relationships: Owen Carvour & Agent Curt Mega, Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 34
Kudos: 59





	1. In The Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Lichinamo for sending me the prompt list to start this bad decision of mine lol! I hope you all enjoy this little collection of fics, including this first installment :) Please feel free to comment and let me know what you think!

There was something magical about seeing Owen cloaked in shadow.

Curt was quite used to it.  As spies, trekking down winding, dark alleyways or sneaking into vacant, unlit rooms was commonplace. The first time Curt had ever been on a mission with him, shadow had been present.  However, no matter how often he  witnessed  it around Owen, it never got old.

No, shadow-cloaked Owen was something special for Curt. It curated a more rugged version of the man he knew and loved. It elevated Owen's rugged looks and turned them  positively  haunting. It framed his jaw and cast shadows beneath his eyes to reveal the power inside. In the right low lighting, shadow even turned stray hairs into broad scars. Curt shivered when he saw those hypothetical scars. He always shivered when he had a moment to  really  grasp his partner's existence like that.

But, as much as shadow brought out Owen's darkness, Curt came to learn shadow also enhanced the light in him. Under its protection, he learned Owen was most eager to steal kisses. He learned his giggles sounded more merry and his touches grace his skin more  delicately.  Shadow brought whispers of endearments, things he would never say under the watchful eye of another but loved to divulge to Curt. It brought out the man he tried to hide. Curt felt  inconceivably  unworthy of such a gift. Having it in his possession, though, he felt keen never to let it go or spoil.

So, he reveled in it with him.

When Owen stole kisses, Curt leaned them against a wall, brick or concrete, and made sure to giggle into them.  When Owen giggled or touched him, he responded with content smiles and hugs that ensured nothing went unappreciated. Each endearment  was given  one in response. Sometimes, if he was feeling super flattered, they  were met  with ones of his own.

That might have been the one moment shadows were a hinderance. In the shadows, Curt could not see Owen's blushes well.

And he _adored_ Owen's blushes.

"Curt, love, as nice as it is to watch you stare up at me, I do suggest we make better use of our time."

He shook out of his mind with a start. Owen was staring down at him then -- no blush, but with quite a smirk. They were in one of the shadowed alleyways their best exchanges took place in. Owen had suggested it as celebration for their recent mission's success. They were miles from their safe house, and  frankly, neither of them could have waited. They fell into kissing as if it  were welcomed  routine. And in the joy of it, Curt had fallen into dreaming.  That dreaming lasted all the way to where he stood, dumbstruck, watching Owen watch him like he was his favorite show.

He grinned, bashful.

"Oh, did you need something?"

Curt did not need light to tell that tickled Owen. Flipping them, he pinned Curt against the wall and ruffled up his hair. The gesture was too adorable, too fun for him to mind. Not when giddiness and adrenaline still fueled his veins.

"Your attention would be nice," Owen mused.  How he could sound so soft when, only half an hour before, he had been screaming at drug dealers to cooperate, Curt would never know. It made him feel lightheaded, though. Whimsical.

"I figured you would want a sec to admire what you have."

The air of a light chuckle tickling Curt's cheeks, Owen hung his head. "Curt, I do not need a second for that. I have all day. Besides, it's not like I can see much currently beyond you being cheeky."

Shrugging, Curt handed him a dazed and happy grin. "You love it, though."

Owen leaned in for another kiss. This one was brief, but it made Curt's heart soar  nevertheless. He hoped his happiness could  be seen  through the shadows. Owen deserved to know how wonderful that made him feel.

"That I do, love. As do I love you."

Curt nuzzled into the crook of Owen's neck, conveying his sentiments to him in the silence with a slow, content breath and a hand on his chest.  Reveling in the contact, Owen ran a hand through the back of Curt's hair, giving him a slight scratch like he knew he liked it.

"Might I be able to pry you away from here?"

"Why? This is nice."

"Because," Owen murmured, gazing around them, "I think  it may be nicer to do this by a fire."

A fire. It was no shadow lighting, but it could promise some beautiful sights. Curt could consider it.

"I also think, Curt, some privacy would do us well."

Yup, he could consider it.

Still, as he pulled back, he made sure to give Owen's face one last look, one last admiration. He committed to memory how he looked in the shadows, locking it away for use later with  all of  his other daydreams.

And, once satisfied, he gave him a kiss and allowed Owen to take them on their way.

The shadows were wonderful.  Perceiving the man up-close-and-personal without fear of hiding,  on the other hand, was something he would never turn down.


	2. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Already a day behind on this? I pretend I do not see it.
> 
> Anyway, this is a bit more angst than fluff, but there is plenty of sweetness within the comfort portion of it. So enjoy, and I'm sorry <3 Let me know if you like it! Hoping to catch up with day 3's prompt today!

Oh no. 

This was not good. 

No, _none_ of this was good. 

Curt was a spy on one condition. Despite the risks, despite the great toll spying took on his sanity, he continued to spy so long as one stipulation was met: his mother would be safe. And now, to his great horror, that no longer was the case.

At least, he figured as much. Receiving word she was sent a threat over phone that acknowledged her whereabouts and swore to track her did little to ease his mind otherwise. The A.S.S. had sworn she would be safe there. They told him no one would search in the middle of Central America. Too much went on there for a lone woman to pose any threat or suspicion. She would be _safe_. Secret and _safe_. This threat went against all of that. It spat at it and rubbed it into the ground. 

Curt would be pissed off at them if it were not for his anxieties and fears.

He felt so helpless. He wanted to drop everything and run to her. Even if he had to commandeer a plane and learn to fly on the spot, he would do it to make sure she was okay. He needed to see her okay with his own eyes, to see the evil person who scared her gone. The A.S.S. could very well protect her with a new safe house, but he wanted to know for sure. He wanted to make sure she was not a target. 

He had _made_ her a target.

He should not have been so careless. If he had not spoken so often about his mother, if he had burned those documents he first received with her address, if he had ensured not to call her on any unofficial phones... 

It was all his fault. It all was.

He needed to go find her. 

He grabbed his keys and his coat without thought. His gun, usually carefully inspected and arranged in its holster, was grasped haphazardly into his hand as he left his room. Routine would take too long. Routine meant too much time wasted. Watching each step down the stairs was much of the same. Each breath he took, one more closer to his mother, was similarly cast aside in favor of the next. He just needed to go away. He needed to get out, to get rid of this nasty feeling, to make sure all of his ducks were in a row.

He needed to go.

Owen did not want him to go.

He caught Curt's arm before his hand could grip the door handle. Though Curt turned back to look at him with something ferocious, Owen maintained his calm. He looked at Curt with even eyes, small flecks of worry buried within. It was a strangely beautiful sight to see, if one was not panicked. Had Curt not felt genuine that fear might swallow him whole, it would have stopped him. Instead, he snarled at it. Owen refused to let it phase him and kept his grip tight.

"What are you doing?"

"You need to let me go," Curt snapped, his blood boiling at the thought of wasting more time. "Dammit Owen, let me go!"

"Not until you tell me what's happening, love."

Groaning, he threw his head back. "I fucked up and now my mother's life is in danger. Can I go now?"

The confused and now worried look on Owen's face told Curt that that would not happen any time soon. Grip still tight, he dragged Curt away from the door and into the living room. Curt allowed himself to be dropped onto the couch, but he did not like it. Owen looked to not mind the sass.

"You need to tell me everything you know."

"Do I have to?"

Owen's hand reached over and took his. The warmth was comforting. Grounding. The first real thing Curt had felt aside from fear and anxiety since he received the word. Though his eyes did not soften, he did not pull away like he had wished. 

"I won't force you, but I do think it will help. I think," he said gently, squeezing Curt's hand, "if you tell me, we might be able to come up with a better game plan than whatever you were about to do."

Curt sighed. And he sighed again. And then finally, when he could sigh no more, he began to cry. 

At first, Owen gave him space. It might have been a side-effect of not knowing how to handle such an outburst, or a conscious effort to keep Curt from getting worse. Whatever the deal, it seemed to work. But then, as Curt's emotion grew stronger, and his body shook more with each breath, it started not to be enough. It was then that Owen joined Curt on the couch. Without a word about it, he brought Curt into his arms, holding him close and letting him get through his emotions as much as he needed. Curt clung to him like a lifeline.

"S-She's in trouble," he sobbed. "There was a threat. I-I'm scared, Owe. They know where she is."

Hand rubbing his back, Owen rested his head against Curt's. "Does the Secret Service know of this?"

"I called Cynthia. She said she's going to move her somewhere, Toronto or something, but," a violent sob shook through him. "I need...I need to see her. She's not safe until I see her."

"She will be okay, love."

Curt shook his head. "I-I can't believe that. I can't."

Gently releasing him, Owen pulled back from Curt so that he could see him better. There were tear tracks down his face and his eyes were bright red. Owen reached to wipe them away before cupping his cheek, ensuring their eyes would remain locked as he spoke.

"Here's what we're going to do, love. You are going to go lay in bed. You can take my pillows, too. I won't object."

"But-"

"I am going to make some calls," he continued, pleading with his eyes for Curt to listen. "I know some people around the area that can independently confirm her whereabouts once Cynthia provides coordinates. As soon as I know anything, I will let you know."

Curt sniffled. "What if something happens before that?"

"Then you have my express permission to go and hunt down whatever son of a bitch dared to harm her. And I will be at your side ready to rain hell on them," Owen assured. He wiped another tear that had begun to fall. "But that won't be necessary. She will be okay, as will you, love. And once I have this confirmed, I will join you in bed and do whatever you want. Whatever you _need_. Okay?"

He did not know if he was okay. It sounded like a good plan, but he hated the risk of it. He hated knowing that he could be lying in bed while his mother suffered from his carelessness. But, Owen was right. It was a better plan than him barging out and drawing attention toward the new safe house. He needed to trust in his government and in his mother's ability to protect herself. He needed to trust in his partner's grasp on the situation, as well as his connections' competence. It was not alright, but it would be okay. He needed to trust that.

Curt once again took purchase in Owen's arms. As he shut his eyes, he took comfort in the feeling of the strong hold around him. 

"I'm so sorry about this, Curt."

"Thank you, Owe. I-I love you."

"I love you too, Curt. I will make this okay."

_It will be okay._


	3. But You Said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, we go from fluff/angst to just pure, tooth-rotting fluff :D I hope you get a kick out of this little scene. It brought a smile to my face for sure <3 Also, thank you for all the support on this so far!!!

"Curt, no."

"Owen, please! C'mon!"

"No. It's not going to happen."

" _But you said!_ "

"Agent Curt Mega of the American Secret Service, we are not, and will _never_ , bring an animal into our mess of a life."

Pouting, Curt stomped his foot. It had been two days since Owen, his partner of almost fifteen years, had returned from a six-month-long mission overseas. Over that time, Curt had grown lonely. No, not just lonely -- positively pathetic. He would look around and imagine Owen popping up around the corner to see him, smiling bright as ever, ready to ask how his day was. He would speak to him, be it about something on TV or an upcoming A.S.S. task, only to realize he was all alone. It forced him to realize how much he needed company and how much he craved having another soul to talk to. So, he went hunting for one. In came Marlow, a scruffy mutt of a dog with only five years of his life down but eyes that exposed the soul of wisdom beyond his years. 

He had stolen Curt's heart, and now, despite Owen's refusals, Curt was on a mission to have the dog do the same with Owen. 

"If you gave him a chance, you would love him," Curt swore, tugging repeatedly at Owen's arm. "Besides, you said you would not be opposed so long as I did the work. Well, you would be away most of the time anyway, so it's a win-win!"

"Curt, I've seen you almost shoot your foot because you could not secure the safety properly."

"That was one time, and you know it!"

Eyes narrowed, Owen turned away from him and walked into their living room. Curt followed soon after, the photograph of the pup clutched tight in his hand. He worked quick to shove it into Owen's line of sight the second he paused at the counter, knowing it would keep him from dodging the conversation. Sure enough, upon seeing it, Owen heavily sighed and remained.

"Curt."

"You might not get sad when I'm away, but I do when you are," he said, placing his hands on his hips. "I really miss you, and if MI6 is going to keep sending you across the globe for months at a time, I don't want to keep missing you that much. I want someone to comfort and distract me. Marlow will do that."

"And if something happens to us, Curt? If you get hurt and cannot come home to Marlow?" Owen leaned on the counter, staring him down. "What then?"

"Then I'll make sure he has a safe home to go to," he replied as a matter-of-fact. Not wishing to put more stock into such an idea, Curt let go of the photo and took the pause in the action as a chance to lay more sweetness on Owen. Wrapping his arms around him, he rested his head on his back in a way he knew Owen secretly adored. Owen did not speak on it, but Curt could not miss the way his next sigh sounded lighter. _Progress._

"Why not a cat? Aren't they more...tame?"

"It was a thought. But, then again, _look at Marlow's little face!_ "

Curt's baby talk of the dog made Owen snort. He watched him pick up the photo and study it from over his shoulder. When it was returned to the counter, the hands that had held it switched to hold Curt instead. It excited Curt. His charms would work much better face-to-face. 

"You really, truly want this dog?"

"Yes. More than anything right now. Except you, of course, but you know what I mean!"

"And you will put all your effort into taking care of him? The walking, the feeding, the bathing -- all of it?"

Nodding, Curt leaned forward and pecked Owen's lips. "One-hundred percent. He and I will be tied at the hip."

"Fine then."

"YES!"

"I want to meet him first though," he added, Curt now placing kisses across his cheeks in pure glee. "And I'm serious about that, Curt. We need to make sure he likes us and is not afraid. Dogs are all about trust, and if they cannot trust us, it will not be beneficial for either party."

Seriousness aside, Curt felt and looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he bounced before Owen. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he repeated, holding Owen's waist and adoring him any way he could. It was a lot, and it was much more enthusiastic than Owen felt, but he could not deny it was cute. Sighing, he brought Curt in for a hug and rested his head on top of his.

"What am I going to do with another excitable lap dog in this house?"

Grinning, Curt squeezed Owen tighter. "Live a dog's life, babe."

Sharing his grin, Owen rubbed at Curt's back. "Whatever you say, love."


	4. Wounded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is semi-chaotic, but not as chaotic as the fact I'm two days behind, or the fact I had to figure out how to make the prompt 'wounded' into fluff lol
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Gonna try to catch up, so look out for more very soon :)

It started out with a simple way to pass the time.

A conference call with Cynthia was set for half past five. They were to discuss the details of their new mission, one that had them shipped out to Germany in advance. No directions were provided for them to know what to do in the meantime. Usually when this happened, Curt and Owen would turn on the TV or go for walks. Sometimes, they would even spend the time lying next to each other in whatever makeshift bed they received. However, this time, their safe house came with a busted TV, the air was well below freezing, and the cozy bed they wished for was actually two barely-there twin beds. This meant they had to improvise. 

Improvisation resulted in Curt and Owen playing none other than paper football.

Curt had taught him it when they became partners. He hated silence and rest when it was not allowed to be comfortable, so paper football became his favorite pastime. Teaching Owen so he had someone else to play with made him happier than anything. To his delight, it also seemed to please Owen. They would play it often, trying to outdo each other with field goals. Owen was best at making the ball, or rather folded paper triangle. Curt had the best kicking skills. It was a game meant for them.

For a while, the two played well. Curt had some great kicks, and Owen was surprisingly holding his own. It was full of joking and teasing by both parties, making Cynthia's looming call seem years away. 

And then, Curt got a paper cut.

"FUCK!"

Startled, Owen watched as Curt gripped his finger and pulled it closely to him. His face contorted into pain. Owen would have thought he had managed to slice the whole finger with the way he was reacting. Of course, that all changed when Curt brought it before them and only a small slice appeared. He rolled his eyes. Curt gasped.

"Don't you roll your eyes at me! This _hurts!_ "

"Love, not to dismiss your pain, but you are being rather dramatic, don't you think?"

It was as if Owen had offended his firstborn. Curt stood up and backed away, mouth open and eyes hurt. "I think _you_ do not understand how painful this is!"

"Curt, I've been shot before," he deadpanned. "We _both_ have been shot before, with _far_ less pomp and circumstance. You will live."

"Just because it's a paper cut doesn't mean it doesn't hurt that bad! And what if it gets infected? Even the smallest wounds can get infected, Owen!"

Sighing, Owen leaned down to grab the paper football from the floor and placed it back on the table. He then stood and walked forward toward Curt. He flinched away, still dramatic as ever, but Owen did not let him escape despite his best efforts. Soon enough, he had the pained shamble of his boyfriend in his arms. He still stared at his finger as if it were about to fall off any moment. 

"If I grab you a bandage, would that ease your worries?"

Curt glared up at him, his finger remaining in the air where Owen could see it and feel guilty. "Oh, so _now_ you care?"

"I will leave you here to moan and groan over it while you bleed, Mega," Owen warned, voice dangerously even. "Do you want the bandage or not?"

There was a pause. "On one condition."

"I do not think I ever brought conditions to the table. Besides, if anyone should be doing that, it should be me! I'm having to put up with this instead of relaxing or literally anything else!"

"Kiss it."

 _"What?"_

Owen furrowed his brow, briefly releasing his grasp on Curt. Curt took it as a chance to leave, but he did not go far, merely stepping a few steps back. There was a new determination in his eyes, and Owen did not like it.

"Kiss my finger, and I'll happily accept your help."

"There still isn't anything in it for me!"

"You'll have a happy boyfriend and the satisfaction of knowing you are a good one in return?"

Owen shook his head. He could not form a proper way to respond to that or the silliness of his boyfriend. No words could describe the frustration and pure, unadulterated love he felt for the ridiculous man in front of him. So, he simply did as he was told -- or, rather, what he told himself. He left the room, returned with a bandage, kissed Curt's finger with the most delicate of kisses, and then went to work fastening it up. When he finished, he was thanked with a kiss and warm smile. Owen could not find it in himself to return it. Instead, he ruffled Curt's hair with the same warmth and love and walked over to where the phone was positioned in the kitchen. Once there, he went to the sink and splashed water on his face. 

He had never expected their waiting game to become so silly. He also had never expected their partnership to do the same. It did not seem real. However, as his eyes shut from the water, the look on Curt's face reminded him why he put up with it. 

He might be ridiculous, but he is always so proud to be at his side. No matter how much he might put him through, Owen could never wound that pride.

Not when he loved him so much.


	5. Sparkle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely feedback :) As a gift, enjoy this longer chapter! <3 Also heck ye AUs!

Owen Carvour hated prom.

Quite frankly, it was a ridiculous concept. People moved hell and high water to prematurely confess romantic attraction so that they would not show up alone to a two hour dance. In no other situation would this be okay or accepted. But alas, _he_ was the abnormal one for finding it strange. 

Everyone assumed it was because he was British, as if that meant he had no capacity to see its charm. Little did they know, his nationality had nothing to do with it. Even if he was a full-blown, red-blooded American, prom would be his most hated societal obligation. It was stupid. It was uncomfortable. It was stuffy.

It also left little way for people like him to have fun.

He had known he was gay since he was fifteen. In the three years since, he came to learn that dances were simply not places where he could thrive without that aspect of himself coming into play. If he showed up alone, he would be laughed at. If he showed up with a girl, he would survive, but be nowhere near as happy as he wished to be. And if he showed up with a boy, well...it simply would not be allowed. He would become an outcast. 

So, he tried his best to avoid attending them.

Not all could be avoided, though -- hence, where he was now.

Tatiana was a nice girl. A friend. She did not know Owen's full story, but she knew that going with someone to his Senior Prom was not a source of joy. She had stepped up and offered to be his date for the night, and with all other options sounding about as good as nails against a chalkboard, Owen accepted gratefully. He was thankful to have her at his side, even if he would rather throw himself into a river than go. She at least made good company. Plus, she was undoubtedly beautiful. Going with her, especially with her looking stunning in a dark, forest green gown, could dispel rumors for a bit. He enjoyed the thought of that.

They walked into the dance playing the ruse well. Owen had his arm wrapped with hers. His outfit, black with a matching green tie, complimented them both. Not a single soul turned to acknowledge their presence, and Owen liked it like that. He looked to Tatiana with pride, ready to call it a win.

And then, he saw _him_.

He had never seen him before. Their school was large, so not recognizing a face was not uncommon, but Owen tended to remember people well. This boy, he would have recognized. This boy, Owen would be beside himself to forget. He was a stunner. His hair, some mix of blackish brown, shimmered under the flashing lights of the dance. His white suit -- a daring choice, if Owen had ever seen one -- fit him to _perfection_. Even his sparkling black bowtie, worn to compliment whatever blonde he was dancing with's matching skirt, somehow worked on him. He simply looked _good_. 

So good that, when Tatiana went to snap in his face to grab his attention, Owen struggled to register it.

How could he, though, when the very action attracted the attention of the boy right to him?

Doe-eyes met unassuming ones. Pulses escalated. 

Unspoken greetings were exchanged between sudden breaths.

Butterflies fluttered.

And then, reality kicked back in.

"I need to put a leash on you," Tatiana grumbled, pulling Owen in the exact opposite direction of the boy and breaking his heart in the process. "C'mon, let's grab spots to sit."

He had half a mind to protest. He wanted to go back to the entrance, to where he could see that dashing boy, even just to know he really existed. He wanted to run to him, to ask him to dance despite the small blonde he entertained. He wanted to see how bright those eyes could look under the moonlight outside of the dance hall. He wanted to know how wonderful it felt to sneak kisses with him in locker rooms and vacant parks. 

He was getting too ahead of himself. 

At least, he had thought he was.

When they finally found a seat, not too far away from the dance floor, Owen noticed a flash of sparkles cross his eye. It very well could have been any one of the girls' dresses in the hall, but his eyes followed it nonetheless. To his utter joy and slight dismay, the sparkles had been from the boy's bowtie as he crossed the floor. He walked not far beyond Owen, making a b-line for the punch bowl. Seeing this as possibly his one chance to talk with him without Tatiana's suspicion, he excused himself to go grab a drink. Heart pounding and hands sweaty, he sauntered as casual as he could up to the line. The boy was the only other one there, already pouring his punch. It was exactly how Owen had wanted it.

"Hi," he said, thanking everything his voice did not crack. He watched the boy slightly jump a bit before settling into a blinding smile and returning back to his work.

"Hey," he replied. Owen had never thought it possible before, but his voice _oozed_ calmness and kindness. It was incredibly alluring. "Thirsty too, huh?"

Owen's eyes widened. The boy must have caught onto his words' meaning too, for he laughed and turned back to check his expression. Seeing it, he grabbed his drink and handed it for Owen to take. 

"Here, you can have mine."

It took him a second, but soon, he did as told. Words could not describe the ridiculous amount of sparks he felt within when their hands accidentally touched in the exchange. 

God, he was so cliche.

"What's your name?"

"Owen," he rasped, quickly clearing his throat. "Owen Carvour. Senior. What about you?"

"Curt Mega," that cool voice replied, accompanied by another smile as he poured. "I'm a Junior, but not here."

"Lakewood Prep?"

"How did you know?"

Shrugging, Owen took a sip of his punch. "'s only two schools in the city. It was either that or home schooling, but you don't strike me as that."

With a smile, Curt finished pouring and clinked his drink against Owen's. "Then you'd be wrong. I used to be homeschooled. My family let me choose if I wanted to continue it after middle school. Obviously, I chose the other option."

"I see."

"We don't have dances there, though," he groaned, snagging a handful of pretzels on the table nearby. "Going to this was my only chance. Thankfully, Barb was a doll and let me tag along as her plus one."

A whole slew of emotions swept through Owen at that. He had heard of Barb, or Barbara Larvenor. She was, to say the least, nerdy. She also was not straight. He had figured that out a long time ago, when he caught her sneaking a photo of a brunette in a biology class they shared into her binder. Though she hid it well, it made her no competition for Owen. She would go after Curt just as much as others would think him to. That was a _major_ comfort.

Having proof he possibly had little standing in his way of going after Curt, however, brought little comfort. It made him nervous. It made him self-conscious and clammy, because what if this could be it? What if this man, this sparkly, very handsome man was his true love? It was far too early to know for sure, but that also meant it was far too early to know otherwise. He had a chance. If that look they shared earlier meant anything, Owen liked to think that chance was more real than it appeared. 

Clearing his throat, he also reached for some snacks. 

"Tati, my good friend, sort of did that," he confessed, catching Curt's eye. "She knows I'm not a fan of these things and tagged along so I would not be a laughing stock. I'm very grateful for her."

"If you don't mind me asking, why don't you like dances?"

The beautiful glow of Curt's eyes made them hard to lie to.

"They aren't my thing." He looked away, unable to continue watching them. "They...they're all about show. Sure, there's couples dancing now, but in two weeks they'll all break up and be with others they actually care about. It's not worth all the hassle, in my opinion. It's more enjoyable to be honest."

Pausing to think on Owen's words, Curt swirled his drink in his hand. Owen became increasingly aware of him stealing glances at him out of the corner of his eye, but he tried to remain strong. He stared out forward at the dance floor. Of course, that could only last so long. Before he knew it, he was staring back at him. This time, he registered something staring back. Something mischievous and a little nervous. It excited him. It also made him want to dive into the punch bowl. 

Instead of a response, Owen got a hand stretched out to him.

Looking to it, he let out a huff of air.

"C'mon, it's too loud in here."

He took it without regard for what would happen next.

They disappeared from the room effortlessly. Not even Tati noticed their absence, her mind too invested in chatting with others around their table. From the dance hall, they weaved through the school, passing classrooms at a speed Owen's scrambling mind struggled to process. Finally, they came to a rest at the school's garden. Curt released his hand so he could sit on a bench beside the strawberry plants. When Curt joined him on it, Owen delighted in realizing his eyes really did shine brighter in the moonlight. He sucked in a breath. Curt, dare he say it, _blushed._

"I agree, by the way," he said softly, his voice lower and frankly more alluring than before. Owen felt a chill run down his spine. "Dances are fake, and it's much better to be honest. So, I'm going to be honest with you. I-I don't usually do this, but...but I think you'll appreciate it."

And Owen did, for as soon as Curt finished speaking, he did something Owen would have only thought about in his wildest dreams. 

_He kissed him._

It was not an average kiss by any means, either. It was a first kiss Owen felt unworthy of. Curt's lips were so soft and so gentle. His hand eventually worked its way to cup his cheek, and the touch felt like fire. Owen even heard him moan into it as it continued, which was enough to send his mind screaming. 

When it finally came to a close, he could hardly contain himself.

He _giggled._

And the sight of it? Well, it brought out what soon would become one of Owen's favorite sights of Curt himself. 

His eyes _sparkled._

Perhaps dances were not so bad, after all.


	6. Quicksilver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're like me, you might not know what quicksilver means and have to look it up multiple times (yes I am a writer, yes I went to college LOL). For all those out of the loop like me, it describes a quick and sudden change of things. I included some adjectives in the beginning of this that also give you a bit of a clue so you won't be like me, struggling at 2am to figure it out :P
> 
> Hope you enjoy! I saw a few of y'all on the last chapter talking about how much you love Owen falling fast for Curt and it inspired me here :)

Falling for Curt Mega was like quicksilver.

Sudden.

Unpredictable.

Overwhelming.

From the moment he first saw that goofy smile of his, Owen was enticed. But, he had thought that that attraction would take its time to settle in order to really hook him into feelings. In all of his previous liaisons, solid emotions like the ones he felt he could feel with Curt took at least two months to form. Falling for him would take time, skill, and of course, his reciprocation.

It was perhaps how quick of a reciprocation he received from Curt that led Owen into his spiral. In his past relationships, Owen had never had his partner flat out _flirt_ on their second day together. 

No, not even _together_ , together. In each other's presence, together. 

It had taken him off guard. He contemplated if he had heard Curt's words right, because that never happened. No man, especially in their situation working for their governments, openly flirted with another man like that. It had to have been a mistake. 

There was no mistaking it the second time, though.

One could only compliment another's ass in trousers in so many platonic contexts. Curt had chosen none of them.

Owen dreamed about him at length that night. His heart fully took a swan dive and told him what he had not thought possible: he liked Curt. A _lot_. That quirky, ridiculous, boisterous American made him happy and flushed, and dammit, he was going to enjoy it. He was going to make him his. 

He just needed to work up the courage to do so.

By the time he did, he knew it was love.

They were on a mission. It was simple. All they needed to do was retrieve some blueprints and a set of keys from a room before its occupants returned. Curt had decided to make the 'game' they were playing more interesting. He insinuated to Owen that he could go in, grab the blueprints, and get out faster than Owen could do the same with the keys. It was a ballsy move, especially given how Owen knew the exact location of the keys going into it. However, it was amusing. Owen wanted to see if Curt could do it. He wanted to see if the smug smile on his face could grow any brighter, mostly for selfish reasons. 

He may or may not have doddled a bit in retrieving the keys. 

Curt may or may not have returned with the blueprints a cocky victor, flaunting his stuff and grinning like a child on Christmas morning. 

Owen could not help but say it then.

"Gosh, I love you."

The look on Curt's face told Owen there was nothing quick and sudden about his feelings then. He had stars in his eyes, ones that had burned for a while and looked upon Owen with nothing but pure happiness and realization the time had come. They kissed without hesitation then, and when they had to flee the room, they did so hand-in-hand. 

Owen fell harder for Curt as the time passed from then. Curt was quick to set them on a routine of caresses, stolen kisses, and teasing that drove him wild. It made him completely and utterly whipped for Curt, at least behind closed doors. When it was the two of them, and when all appearances no longer held such a heavy weight, he melted. He brought Curt close and did his best to make him smile. He kissed him to hear his laugh. He cuddled him to hear his happy sighs.

He told Curt in the dead of night, all but three months after their first 'I love you,' that he never wanted to leave him. 

Despite the rush of it all, seeing Curt smile back and hearing him emphatically agree told Owen it was okay. It was okay to fall fast and hard. When you had someone you loved, and things clicked as well as they did, it was okay. 

It just meant there was more time to get into the rest of forever together.


	7. "Stop hogging the blankets!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this??? Two updates in one night??? Within the same HOUR???? You're actually seeing it, folks!
> 
> This prompt lives in my head rent free and also goes with a story I had in mind a bit back so...let's just say this one came easy to me :) I really do hope you enjoy <3

"Stop hogging the blankets!"

Curt rolled his eyes from within his blanket cocoon. To commemorate their anniversary and to provide them a brief getaway from their lives as spies, Owen had procured them a cabin in the mountains. It was at a lovely spa resort, and most of their first day there had been fantastic. They had hot stone massages, they swam in pools left all to themselves. They even had a nice, romantic, catered candlelight dinner by the fire. Everything had been perfect.

And then, the temperature dropped thirty degrees outside just as they went to bed.

Curt thought of himself as a naturally warm person up until that moment. When they stayed at safe houses, he usually was the one begging Owen to lower the thermostat. He slept with a sheet and nothing more whenever not sharing a bed with him. His body seemed to run hotter. However, in their cabin room, even with Owen serving as a heater at his side, Curt had gotten cold. _Very_ cold. So cold that he managed, while Owen slept none the wiser, to snag the blankets for himself. 

It was selfish, but hey, he was freezing. He _deserved_ it.

Owen was quick not to think so.

"You absolute prick," he had moaned as soon as he woke, reaching around the empty mattress to find Curt. Curt had rolled away from him on their King bed, providing him just enough space to evade his attempts to grab him. Frustrated at coming up short and freezing, Owen moaned again. He then opened his eyes and looked to Curt with dangerous glare. 

Given Curt had only seen that glare reserved for the worst of their enemies, he _knew_ Owen meant business.

Within the blanket burrito, he shivered.

"I'm _cold_ , though!"

"You're cold and you're being an absolute arse about it. Give me the blankets back."

"Nuh-uh."

This pitiful exchange between lovers led to where they stood now, having a glare-off in the bed as cool mountain air swirled around them. Whatever heater they had must have broken. That thought alone had Owen out for blood and Curt scared to leave his safe wrappings. He slid deeper within them as Owen sat up and crawled toward him on the bed.

"If you do not get out within the next thirty seconds, you will leave me with no choice, Mega."

Raising a brow, Curt challenged Owen. "Oh? No choice in what?"

"I'll let you figure that out."

His even tone was chilling. Luckily, Curt was wrapped up and unafraid.

"Do your worst. I'm _comfy_." 

"Suit yourself."

Within seconds, Curt no longer was on the bed. His world spun around him as he fell off it, landing on the wooden floor with an ungraceful thud muted slightly by the blankets' padding. While it did stop him from getting injured, it did not stop him from letting out an annoyed 'OW' in response to the situation. Owen merely smirked at him from the bed. 

Damn him, looking so pleased.

"Still keen to remain warm, love?"

"I hate you."

Crawling off the bed, Owen padded over to where Curt lay, left cheek smashed to the floor, and chuckled. "If you agree to share, I promise your lodgings will be much more pleasant. I might even hold you."

"How can I trust you won't kick me off again?"

Shrugging, Owen nudged Curt's burrito blanket with his foot. "I suppose you cannot. But, you can trust that, while you play nice, I will do my best to share the warmth. You have my word on that."

"No tricks?"

"Just me as your treat," he replied, snark oozing through. If Curt was not staring face-to-face with lint and whatever else resided on the floorboards, he might have laughed at it. Instead, he groaned and wiggled within the covers.

"Fine. Get me out of this thing and pay up, jerk."

"I'm so grateful you've come to see it my way, Curt."

True to his word, Owen made quick progress in undoing his confines and bringing him into the bed at his side. He wrapped his arm around Curt's waist and tugged him close, the blankets once around him now keeping them cozy. As much as Curt hated to admit it, it was a much more enticing setup than what they had dealt with before. He did his best not to show it in his face, but he could not help but revel in the feeling through nuzzling into Owen. Owen grinned.

"See, now isn't this pleasant?"

"Shut up and keep me warm, Owen."

"I love you too, dear. Sweet, warm dreams."

“Next time, we’re going to the Caribbean.”

Chuckling, Owen pressed a kiss to Curt’s cheek. 

“Whatever you say.”


	8. Unwavering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I RISE!
> 
> I honestly feel like the embodiment of the 'nothing bad ever happened to the Kennedys' meme considering I fell super behind on this the day after I caught up. Oh well, hope this makes up for it and you can forgive me :) More to come soon! Let me know what you think!

Owen figured the day would come sometime.

Growing up in a rather quiet, conservative town, right on the cusp of acceptance for those like him, he had dreamed of one day finding someone to love. He looked to those around him -- his babysitter, his friends in school, his parents -- and dreamed he would one day experience the love of another like they did. His sexuality was never something he questioned, but he knew the outside world did. Still, he dreamed. He never once thought the dream would never come true. 

As a new adult, fresh from the world of academia and ready to explore the world, Owen's dreams remained. He had other ones to accompany it now, such as opening up his own bookstore and perhaps putting out some novels of his own, but his most core dream remained. It flared up in his mind when another man held his gaze longer than normal. It blossomed into a world of possibility when he had his first dance with another at a friend's wedding. He was so full of hope. So full of _need_ for his dream to come true. So ready to experience something real with another.

Curt was everything his dream promised and more.

He walked into Owen's life at his bookstore, five days into it coming to fruition. It was a slower day, but Owen had been content with it. He liked having a chance to breathe and take in the new beginning he accomplished. He was sitting at the front, Fleetwood Mac playing on the store radio, when the door chimes jingled. Whatever Owen thought he would see, it was not Curt. Nothing could have prepared him to see Curt for the first time.

He wore denim jeans and a black v-neck shirt. It was nothing special by any means, but he looked _good_ in it. Owen had to force his eyes away, lest he be found staring. How could one _not_ stare, though, when Curt waltzed in as he did, smiling like a movie star? It was too awe-inspiring not to. His heart had stopped when he approached the counter, and the conversation they both had when Curt inquired about his favorite novels? Well, it was safe to say Owen knew where his future would take him. Curt was his other half, and he was going to stop at nothing to make sure he stayed that way.

Ten years later, Owen was ready to make that bond official.

He had everything planned out. When the store closed, he decked out the back break room and sent Curt a text. The idea was for him to arrive, unsuspecting, to find a beautiful, romantic dinner setup awaiting him. After sharing the bottle of wine he procured and dining on Curt's favorite, Owen's chicken parm, Owen would surprise him. He would get down on one knee, suck up his nerves, and propose, just as sweet and tender as he deserved. 

To Owen's shock and delight, his plan went _exceedingly_ to plan. Despite being a little put off by the cold air outside, Curt arrived at the store a mere five minutes past when he said he would -- early, by his standards. He paid no mind to Owen's strange request for him to come, his love for him trumping any confusion or questions that might muddle his mind. After some small talk, Owen called Curt back to help him in the break room. Curt joined him without protest, and when he stepped inside, Owen could have cried.

The sight took Curt's breath away.

Stringed lights outlined the small room. The table Owen usually placed spare books or paperwork on was covered with a maroon tablecloth and candles. A bottle of wine sat between the candles, and two plates rested on either side. Soft music wafted through the room. It was a picture straight out of a dream. Owen had to try his best to not let his emotions get the best of him and make him propose right then and there. Before Curt could comment on everything, Owen invited him to take a seat. As always, he obliged.

They spoke their typical daily dialogue, asking how each other was and what happened during the day. However, as time progressed, Owen could see Curt start to wonder why such an elaborate setup was happening around him out of the blue. He did not know if he was expecting the conversation to change, or if he was waiting for some big moment. What Owen did know, though, was that he had to strike before those feelings came up. 

So, he waited for a lull in the conversation and then took his chance.

"Curt, love, I was wondering," he asked, smiling as unassumingly as he could across the table. "How long have you loved me?"

Blinking, Curt looked to his wine. "That's a little out of the blue, don't you think?"

"It is, but I'm curious." Reaching over, he took one of Curt's hands into his and gave it a soft squeeze. "Tell me."

After a moment's pause, Curt shrugged. "I think I began falling for you from the start, really. I mean, I've always thought you were one of the most intelligent persons I've ever met, and I felt weak when I first came here and spoke to you. I said it for the first time two years in, though."

"At the beach house." Owen remembered that night well. Splayed out beside each other in the cool sand of a private beach, they had been sharing secrets. Curt's secret was his love. Owen felt like he had ascended to heaven that night. He smiled fondly at the memory.

"Yeah! It's been going strong ever since."

"It has been for me too, actually. Never wavered at all, not once. I kind of wanted to have this dinner tonight to celebrate that. To celebrate us," he added. "Not many people can make it ten years as well as we have, with all things considered. We deserve it, you know?"

Curt smiled and took a sip of his wine. "I guess we do."

"I don't think it's quite right yet, though," Owen mused, the object in his pocket growing heavier in his mind. "It's not... _special_ enough."

"You decked out your store's back room just so we could have a fancy dinner. What's more special than that?"

Curt's question fell upon deaf ears as Owen got out of his seat. It was as if he knew, in that second, that things were about to change. His hand clamped over his mouth as Owen knelt down, revealing a stunning platinum band to him. Instead of asking the traditional question, Owen landed on one that he knew would mean a lot more to Curt. Something more personal, more true.

"Will you share forever with me?"

Gasping out a choked laugh, Curt nodded. He nodded furiously, so much so, his hair got in his face and he looked like a damn fool. But, he was Owen's damn fool. His damn fool forever, come what may. 

Their unwavering love would carry on. For Owen, that was all he needed to get by. 

They shared a deep kiss, and the rest was storybook history.


	9. Monochromatic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one night cheeeeck!
> 
> This one is a soulmate AU and frankly? I'm in love with it. I hope you all feel the same <3

_"When it happens, it'll take your breath away, sweetie."_

Call him cynical, but Curt was tired of hearing his mother's words. He lived in a world where color was a concept not open to the public. It was a gift, bestowed only to those lucky individuals who happened upon their soulmate. The saying was that, when you and your soulmate first touched, the world burst forth with shining color. The drab, black-and-white backdrop exploded into various shades of every color, illuminating the world into something brilliant. 

Curt found that all a bit nonsensical. 

It was not that he did not believe it. His mother ranted and raved too much about it for it not to be true. He simply did not understand the hype. What was so great about color that people would fight tooth-and-nail to find their soulmate for a chance to see it? He had witnessed entire romances fall apart because of it, too. Was that worth it? He could not know for sure, but in his opinion, it did not seem so.

It was not like color _changed_ anything. Life would still continue if black and white. And, if people were so desperate to find their soulmate, why were they making the color aspect their primary goal for doing so? Should they not seek out their soulmate for love? For compatibility? It all sounded like a bunch of hyped up garbage, fooling people into associating an experience with love. 

His mother, however, did not let this feeling fully grow on him. 

"Someone will come along one day and show you," she would say, shaking her head as she crafted. "You doubt it now, but it's best to wait and see what they have in store for you. I promise you, Curtis. It's well worth it."

But, waiting never proved fruitful. Curt was twenty when she told him that, and now, over a decade later, there he was: single, colorless, and increasingly hopeless. The amount of people he turned down after first touch was a long, listless line of dread, and he hated every second of it. He hated wondering when it would happen for him, when his life would begin. Hell, as much as his world was void of color, it truly felt monochromatic when put on hold waiting. He just wanted to live again. To blissfully exist again.

He figured it was not so much his decision as it was the world's for him to run away.

He needed a break. He needed to not hear his mother's sadness, or see his friends' faces as he said for the millionth time that he did not know who his soulmate was. So, he packed whatever he had and went overseas. If it was to be permanent or not, he had no clue. All he knew was that it would be a fresh start. He liked the idea of a fresh start. 

As soon as he got off the plane and breathed in the cool London air, Curt finally felt like he had one. He felt happy: happy to be on his own, happy to be able to explore, and happy to have zero pressures. Sure, he might still be asked about his sight, but at least not by anyone important. It was a glorious feeling.

Until he could find work, Curt used his savings to book him a hotel for a while. He settled on one a bit out from the city -- not too shabby, but nowhere near like the expensive ones he knew resided closer to it. After unpacking and hauling his belongings into the room's compartments, he figured it was worth it to explore the world outside. He had seen a nice shopping area not far from the place, and it might prove useful to know his way around it if he stayed long. 

Sure enough, it was good that he went. He found the center had everything he could need -- clothes, food, decorations. It gave him comfort that he might be okay, and that his impulse decision might not be the worst thing in the world. Feeling high on life, he decided to go grocery shopping, at least for a few essentials and a treat of wine and chocolate. 

You know, because he could.

He made quick work of grabbing everything -- bread, water, juice, snacks. By the time he had the chocolates and was heading over to the wine, he was half debating going to one more store simply for something to do. The thought had been so sidetracking that he did not see the other man also heading toward the wine he wanted. They grew closer, and closer, and closer, until it happened: their hands touched, just inches from the bottle's neck.

Curt had to hand it to his mother. 

It really was like an explosion.

In one blink, Curt saw the world change. Darker shades of grey turned into blues and reds and greens. The wine went from a pale grey to a light pink with deep maroon labelling. The other hand, faded in his previous vision, stuck out to him as being tan. When he looked up to find its owner, a whole new slew of colors appeared.

Most pointedly, a deep amber brown, studying him just as fervently and with the same amount of nervous curiosity. 

Curt _blushed._

The man gasped. Apparently, the color it gave off was enough to do that. Curt really hoped he would get to see what it looked like on him.

He cleared his throat.

"H-Hi," he said, swallowing down a large lump in his throat.

"Hi," Curt replied, already struggling to not find the man before him charming. "I...I guess we should start with names?"

Chuckling gently, the other man ran the same hand which had touched Curt through his hair. "I'm Owen."

"Curt."

"You um...you have good taste. I-In wine, that is."

Blushing deeper, Curt looked to the bottle and gave his own shaky laugh. "I guess I do. I guess...you do, too."

"I guess," Owen echoed. 

"Would you um...would you want to share this with me? The bottle," he clarified, feeling nervous as ever to talk to a complete stranger. "Something tells me a chat over wine might not be the worst thing for the two of us to do tonight."

An audible sigh of relief left Owen then. He nodded and snatched the bottle, placing it within his cart full of luscious greens and fruit. "I would be delighted. You're not from around here, are you?"

"Would you believe I just flew in here today?"

Owen laughed. "The bloody odds... Well, in that case, it'll be my treat, yeah? What do you say?"

Nodding, Curt smiled, genuinely smiled, at Owen and placed his hand on his arm. "I think that sounds wonderful, Owen. I'm staying at the Wyndham about three blocks from here."

Giving a quick glance to his arm, Owen beamed back at him. "I'll pick you up there then tonight. Six work well?"

"Absolutely."

Tossing Curt a wink, Owen grabbed hold of his cart and went back on his way. "Cannot wait, love. To new beginnings!"

Gazing around at the colorful world around him, and staring off after the colorful man he just had met, Curt could not agree more with that sentiment. 

_To new beginnings._

_To new beginnings with you._

He made a mental note to bring those chocolates.


	10. Once Upon A Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am super behind on this. Yes, I do intend to continue it to the end. Here's a royalty AU to make up for my lack of upkeep <3 
> 
> Also I pictured Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth a bit while writing this, so do with that what you will.

Once upon a time, there was a prince named Owen. Owen was the son of a famed ruler, a king named James, who was respected, revered, and somewhat feared among the land. King James IX had high hopes for his eldest son. He trained him since birth to become his heir, and a damn good heir at that. No expense was too much if it meant educating Owen to know how to smoothly take over his position. He was not going to let his son shakily grasp his crown like he had as a boy. When Owen I came to power, he would be strong. Not a man, woman, or child would dare doubt his reign's beginning. Not if he could help it.

Luckily, Prince Owen had a strong will to him. Though quiet, it was rare to see him shirk on any given responsibility. He was a great marksman, a genius at foreign policy, and a firm speaker. With his father's guidance, he soon became quite accomplished. He even helped lead a troop to victory upon a war waged when he was sixteen. As much as his father loved him, his country was beginning to love him more with each passing day. 

Not too far away from the heart of the kingdom lived another bright boy. Curt was the son of a noble knight, though he held no title himself. He grew up in much more humble surroundings than Owen, with his father's estate consisting of a sufficient building, a small farm, and a few acres for hunting. He grew up not learning about politics, but instead chasing after animals, playing with his siblings, and learning how to hunt. There was immense joy in him at any given second of the day. 

Even though this carefree and wild attitude persisted as he matured, his parents still trusted that he would become a good heir to their estate. He would ensure fun would remain there. They, unlike many, prioritized fun and kindness over wealth any day. They knew it would lead him in the right direction, even if it did not seem so to others. 

For almost two decades, these two men lived in relative opposite-spectrum lives, unaware the other existed. That all changed when Owen turned eighteen. 

It was customary for royalty to have already betrothed another to their heirs in childhood. Trade deals and alliances often used children's hands as brokerage deals, and with that came security. However, for all his planning, that was one thing King James had never secured for Owen. His reasoning was twofold. First off, keeping a lack of betrothals ensured that he could have that deal on the table for whenever he needed it. It was like a savings box, but for his son's hand. The longer he dangled the option over his competition, and the greater of a prospect Owen became, the more lucrative of a deal he could bargain. 

His second reason was far more sentimental. Though he adored Owen, relations with Owen's mother had soured soon after his birth. While they went on to produce two more children, things had been unhappy -- almost to the point of their ruin. His mother struggled with commitment and the pressures of being a royal. She would often leave the palace to be elsewhere, where she could be alone with herself and free from the world's troubles. His father dealt with immense loneliness because of it. He never once wished to cheat on his wife, as he did truly love her. It made her rejecting his life and their duties all the harder to grapple with. He did not wish Owen to ever have to grapple with such sadness. Owen was too good, too wonderful to have to suffer what he did behind closed doors.

As such, he made a deal with his son. Upon his eighteenth birthday, Owen had the freedom to choose who he wished to marry. It rested on the condition there still could be one arranged if needed before his hand was officially given away, but still. Owen had a choice. That was more than James could ever say for himself or his wife. Owen swore to take on whatever blessing came his way with dignity, be it an arranged or largely sought after love marriage. 

For five months, nothing happened. Owen attended plenty of balls, business meetings, and royal duties, but no one caught his eye. Being at peace and content to keep it that way, no arrangements were thrown his way, either. He simply went about his life, learning more and more about his future kingdom as he went.

And then, disaster struck. On a trip around the kingdom, King James fell gravely ill. He was able to return to the palace, but the outlook for him was grim. His breathing was shallow, and he did not have the strength to eat. For three days, Owen watched at his bedside as he struggled. King James' struggles came to an end on the fourth. 

Owen was crowned king on the sixth. 

The loss changed much more than Owen's function in the kingdom. It changed his marital game. Being a single heir was one thing. Being a single king reflected a lack of stability. A weakness. Though no one doubted Owen's ability to rule, rumors did begin spreading that that could only get him so far. Even the fact he had siblings to take over for him if the worst happened did not bring them comfort. They needed a monarchical couple at the top for that. 

Three months into his reign, Owen found himself realizing that waiting for 'the one' might only be a pipe dream. For the good of his country, he decided to start a search. 

He was going to find someone good, someone his people could trust.

Meanwhile, out at Curt's family farm, a similar catastrophe was hitting him. His parents had ventured out on ship to a neighboring kingdom for trading purposes, and word had arrived that a storm had intercepted them before they could arrive safe. At eighteen, Curt was suddenly a Lord, an estate owner, and a caregiver for his younger siblings. It was a fate he had never prepared to accept at such a young age. He truly had little idea how to take it on. He did not cease to try, though. If his parents left him with one thing, it was confidence that he could do anything no matter his skill. He acquired a second job in shoe making, took to selling the family crops alongside his sister, and made it work.

Such honest work began to pay off dividends for him faster than he could have imagined.

Something about his wit, his charming smile, and the way he went out of his way for others drew customers his way. Curt soon became a known name in his town, and that knowledge led to him making his way up. What work got him a week's worth of food for him and his siblings soon started to get him three times that. His clients went from peasants to other nobility. It was not until he received a request from one of the new king's brothers that it hit him how popular he was getting, though.

He traveled on horseback into the capitol. His wares -- a collection of shoe designs and popular leathers -- sat slung on either side of his mare. For two days, he toiled with her through impossible weather and bustling suburbs. By the time he reached the king's palace, he and his horse could have used a bath and a good night's sleep. However, he knew better than to make royalty wait. He journeyed forward, knowing only his mare would receive that coveted rest in the king's stables.

Meek and full of nerves, he presented himself to the palace guards in a shaky tongue. He could tell it did little to convince them of his worth of being there, but upon saying his name, recognition gave him clearance. A new set of guards guided him inside, keeping him in line with spears and heavy stares. Curt had never seen the inside of a palace before, but he had to say, he had figured they would be much more welcoming than that. 

All thoughts came to a halt when they reached the outside of the king's office.

"When presented to the king and his brother, you do not dally," one instructed, his voice thick and quite like the old characters his father used to recite to him as a child. Stuffy. Pretentious. A bit too serious. "State your name, your whereabouts, and your business. Nothing more, nothing less. Understood?"

Nodding, Curt also knew better than to disagree with a royal guard. He waited his turn with patience before one of the guards knocked and ushered him inside. Once presented, the doors slammed behind Curt, and he was faced with the fact he was alone with royalty.

One look at them told Curt he was not the only one coming to that realization. 

Having only ever heard about the king and never seeing his face before, Curt would have reckoned that the shorter of the two men before him was their King Owen I. He looked far more calm and reasonable than the shaking figure at his side. He had an even face and a serious stare. That was how kings were supposed to look, right?

The man at his side, however,  _ was _ his king. Curt knew it the second he recognized the crown. The image of that was far more circulated. He could not miss it on seals, designs, pamphlets, and others of the like. Still, it did not make sense. Though absolutely handsome in every regard, he did not match the calm, cool, strong demeanor Curt had heard so ravingly about. He looked shaken. Betwixt. Thinking about everything all at once while simultaneously thinking nothing at all. Curt wondered if he was always like this, and if he were okay. If royals could keep secrets about how drab the inside of their living quarters were, who was to say they could not keep a secret about how frazzled their king really was? Concerned about the other brother's disapproval, Curt bowed to them both and did as he was told.

"Lord Curt Mega, your majesty, your highness. I am from Havenfield two days' journey away and am here to present your majesty's brother with the shoe designs he commissioned."

Before the younger of the two men could speak, King Owen cleared his throat and stepped forward. 

"Lord Mega, I do remember hearing of your parents' joint passing. I-I send my utter condolences to you and your family."

Though shocked to hear that as his greeting, Curt made sure to bow and thank him for it anyway. Just because he acted strange did not mean Curt was suddenly free from duty.

"Thank you, your majesty. I remember hearing word of your own father's passing. Do trust my siblings and I have prayed plenty for you all in your time of grief."

It was all customary words, but they appeared to touch the king. Sensing the same thing, his brother stepped forward and gestured for Curt to go to a nearby table with his bags.

"Mind we get on with our business?"

As did most when told to act by royalty, Curt obliged. He could not shake though the searing gaze of the king, fixated squarely on his back while he conducted his work. Not a moment of explaining leathers or types of shine was left unmarked by him. Curt could hear him pace, and when the pacing stopped, that stare found him. It was as if he was watching him for something, or warring with himself over some aspect of his being. Whatever the case, it put Curt at edge. He wanted to know why, and soon.

Thankfully for him, Owen was not in any mood to have him leave so soon after finishing his business. He in fact escorted his brother out of the room then, ensuring he would join him later for food and to trust he would leave Curt in good company. Though exactly what Curt wanted, this move sent a chill down his spine. Being alone with two royals was pressure enough. Being alone with the king when he had just spent an hour staring him down was enough to make Curt question every bit about his success and why he did not settle for a simple farm life like his siblings. He just  _ had  _ to go and make a name for himself. Finally, his mother's old saying of  _ 'Be careful what you wish for!'  _ suddenly made sense.

"What do you need me for, your majesty?"

Owen, regaining his nerves, paced over to his desk. He sat at it in what appeared to be an effort to calm himself, but nothing of the sort looked to actually happen. If anything, being confined to one place looked to disturb him more. Curt watched on in confusion, awaiting to be spoken to again before inquiring about such a thing.

"My Lord Mega, I...I need to apologize to you."

That was unexpected. Synching his eyebrows together, Curt took a step forward. "What ever for? You're a great king. Your family is doing wonders for me and mine by granting us your commission. You have no apologies to give."

"But I do," he replied, standing. Curt jumped a little at it, and when Owen caught sight, he slowly sat back down. Clearing his throat, he tried to put himself back together. "I...I have not let you out of my sight all day. Forgive my brashness, but I've been picturing entire futures with you and...and I deceived you to my emotions. I should have stated this sooner and not been such an observer."

Curt, feeling bubbled emotions in his gut, blinked. "You...you have feelings for me?"

"Yes," Owen breathed. "Yes, I do. Ardent ones. I-I know we've barely spoken, and I know this is about as reckless as one can be, but...I've never been more certain of something I know so little of. I would desire, if you were not opposed, to get to know you. Both as a friend and a companion."

It was almost too good an offer to be true. But, Curt knew better than to jump at the first thing handed to him without question. He was no man to say no to his king, but he had self respect. Before he went catching feelings for his handsome ruler, he had to know he would not be getting the lesser side of the deal. 

Walking forward once more, Curt held Owen's gaze. "If  _ I  _ may be so brash, what of your throne, though? Would you not be worried?"

It was a valid question to ask. Though their kingdom was not opposed to same-sex monarchs, unions of the sort almost always worried the people of a succession crisis. Owen's brother offered some comfort, but still. If Owen chose him, it would be a weakness. 

That was not even considering the lack of status to his name.

Yet, as he looked at Owen, he saw no hesitation. If anything, he saw the king become even more infatuated. His eyes were softer. His gaze was gentle. That kind of look made Curt wonder what made him worthy of such trust and risk. He was not much, was he?

"I would trade any crown to have a chance with someone as honest and talented as you."

Curt let out a shaky breath. That was as much of a promise for safety as anything.

"Really?"

Owen nodded. "My father let me choose for love, not for status or gain. I do not ask any of that from you. All I ask is your trust, my lord. In return, I pledge my loyalty to you. Please, do me the honor of showing you the breadth of that loyalty."

"Okay."

Shock flashed across Owen's face. "Okay?"

Smiling a shy smile, Curt bowed to Owen. When he arose, he walked forward until he met the edge of his desk. He took Owen's hand and, taking a risk, brought it up to his lips to kiss it. The look he received was one of pure awe.

"There's no harm in exploring something as pure as love with someone who has shown me great honor. Though, I am not sure your guards outside will be too keen to know I did more than present myself to you."

Owen blushed, actually  _ blushed _ , and looked past him to the door.

"I'm sure I can sway them into contentment in time. In the meantime, might I sway  _ you _ into taking a walk with me around the palace garden? We've stumbled our way into this, but I do want to begin on the correct foot. I would like to learn about you, about your craft. About your family. Would you like that?"

Gently grinning, Curt nodded. "I would like that."

"Good."

And with that, though they nor the kingdom knew it yet, the two began what would be the monarchy's most firm example of love and companionship.


	11. Radiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big shout out to Lichinamo for helping me come up with something ~interesting~ for this prompt! I really love how it turned out. These two are too cute. Enjoy & tell me what you think <3

"Babe, get over here, you're going to miss them!"

Striding over to the side of the boat, Owen wrapped his arms around his lover from behind. They were on a small weekend cruise traveling near Alaska for their anniversary. The cruise's big lure, the reason why Curt and Owen chose it for such an occasion, was seeing the northern lights. They were a dashing sight, one the two of them had fantasized about for years, so the chance to go had been readily taken. 

Now, a mere mile away from where they would first shine bright across the clear night sky, the time had come. Owen would not miss seeing it at Curt's side for the world. He rested his chin on his shoulder, eyes trained to the night sky.

"That would be rather sorrowful."

He felt Curt huff. Knowing him, it was probably accompanied by an equally miserable pout. "I'd never forgive you, you know."

"Oh, now that's a bit harsh, innit?"

"Don't test me, Carvour. My grudges hold no limits."

Owen chuckled to himself, knowing that was a lie. Curt held grudges like children held ice cream -- shakily at best. He one time shouted Owen would never make it up to him when he accidentally ate Curt's lunch (which, to be fair, had  _ not _ been labeled). A quick peppering of kisses along his neck and a cuddle on the couch later, and the matter was all but forgotten. 

Another time, Curt had cursed him up and down for forgetting they were not buying each other Christmas gifts. Owen, truly sorry for the matter, allowed Curt to punch him square in the jaw. It was a silly way to fix things, and Curt protested profusely, but Owen knew Curt well. The moment his hot-fired anger got out of his system, he would be okay. Sure enough, one punch later, and all was left to the past -- at least, once Owen let Curt tend to him and he healed. 

The fact of the matter, though, was that Owen was much more in awe of the man he felt pressed against him than fearful. Pressing a kiss to his temple, he sighed. 

"I won't let you down this time, ol' boy. Not even the skies themself could keep me away from this moment."

"Laying it on thick to apologize, eh?" Curt's tone was full of snark, but his playful eyes gave his true intentions away in an instant. Owen found mirth in them.

"Why, that would be rather ungentlemanly of me, Curtis."

"Oh, so now I get the full name, too?"

Nuzzling his cheek against Curt's, Owen rolled his eyes. "Shush, love. The lights aren't going to want to meet us if we're cross."

"Cross? You're the one being cr- OH LOOK!"

Jumping quick enough that Owen had to retreat so as not to accidentally bite his tongue, Curt pointed out across the water. Beyond where his finger directed, cresting right before the horizon, a beautiful ribbon of neon green was beginning its ascent across the sky. It did not move fast, but more like a gentle wave. It had no rush to it, nor any might. It was calm. Beautiful. 

_ Radiant.  _

Both men paused, temporarily in awe of what stood before their eyes. 

"Owen, have you ever seen something so amazing?"

Owen was shaken from his thoughts by Curt, turned around, staring at him with sparkling eyes and a merriment he had never seen on him before. Under the gaze of night, with only the stray few stars and the aurora casting light on him, that merriment turned into something beautiful. Charming. Unbelievably wonderful that Owen had to pause an extra few seconds to catch his breath. When he could speak again, when Curt began looking at him expectantly, only one word came to mind.

"Radiant."

Curt blinked back before smiling. "They are, aren't they? They're a little dimmer than I thought they would be, but I don't even care. The sky's just so cool."

"No," Owen said, taking a step forward again so they were once again close, "no, I wasn't talking about the sky."

"What?"

"I was talking about something a little closer to Earth," he murmured, placing a kiss on Curt's forehead. He could feel him shiver, tempting a smile. "Something I'm lucky to see at any time of the day."

"O-Oh? What's that?"

Glancing once more up at the sky's green hues and then returning to Curt's wonder, Owen let that smile of his break out. "You, silly."

Curt's blush outdid the colors above them. 

"Really?"

"Yes really," Owen urged, going in for a true kiss this time. "Nothing shines brighter than you in my world."

Blushing impossibly redder, Curt buried his head in Owen's chest. "Okay, you're forgiven."

With a chuckle, Owen turned them both back toward the lights. 

"Always am, love."


	12. Clenched Fists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be the cutest thing I've ever written.
> 
> No, scratch that, this IS the cutest thing I've ever written.
> 
> Prepare to feel soft <3

"Curt, stop that."

"I can't," Curt says, pacing back and forth across the tile of the waiting room. "It's helping me keep calm...or whatever I am."

"The pacing, I understand. It's the clenching your fists hard enough you might bleed that worries me," Owen chides. He watches Curt pause, unclench his hands, and then gaze over at him with watery eyes. It's a sad enough sight that Owen almost wishes he had never said anything, but he knows it was necessary. Standing up with a sigh, he walks on over to Curt, bringing him in for a hug. Curt happily takes him up on the offer, his face finding comfort in the crook of Owen's neck.

"I wish we could be in there," he mumbles against his collar, silent tears leaving stains. "I mean, we should be! Why can't we?"

"Not everything can go smoothly, love," Owen whispers in reply, gazing around the room at those too impolite to look away from their embrace. "We're lucky we're getting her, remember? We'll see her soon enough." 

"I just hope everything's okay."

Kissing Curt's cheek, Owen sighs. "Me too, Curt."

The occasion is the birth of their daughter. After years of begging for allowance and acceptance, they finally had found a surrogate willing to grant them their most sought after dream: a child. Amalie was a lovely girl who was very sympathetic and open to letting them experience the process at her side. She treated Owen and Curt like family, and they did the same to her. 

After nine months of watching her carry their little miracle, the time finally came to bring her into the world. Unfortunately, Amalie's kindness was not shared by all. That left Owen and Curt where they stand now: anxiously awaiting the end of the journey in the hospital waiting room. Alone together. Hoping for a sign their little girl was safe.

It is another three hours of clenched fists and back-and-forth tears until they finally get some news.

News comes in the form of a nurse who beckons them both into the main hall. They are shocked to both be included, but neither are in any place to complain as they follow. They simply comply, dazed by the prospect of the outcome awaiting them at the end. The group eventually comes to a stop at a door two thirds of the way down. There is no question that it is Amalie's room, as her name is printed in big script on the door. Still, it takes the nurse mentioning her name for either men to really register it. 

"Amalie requested the two of you join at once to see the baby," she says, handing them surgical caps to put on. "We ask you keep your visit as brief as possible to allow for mother and baby to rest."

The words do not even sink in with them. They nod as if they do, knowing it and the wearing of their caps is all that stands in the way of meeting their daughter. Once fitted and prepared, the nurse opens the door and gestures them inside. It takes them both a few steps each before the sight before them leaves them breathless.

Nelle Rose Carvour-Mega is an angel. She is sleeping peacefully under a pink bonnet and a matching pink towel as Amalie grins brighter than ever at her side. Amalie beckons the boys to come forward and meet her. It takes them a solid few seconds each to do so, and when they do, they have to hold each other's hand to make sure they do not faint. Amalie softly watches the crib, reaching to adjust the baby girl's bonnet. 

"Seven pounds, thirteen ounces," she whispers. "All ten fingers and all ten toes accounted for. She's perfect, you guys."

Curt is the first to break the silence with a choked-back sob. He reaches his finger out and tentatively brushes it against Nelle's cheek. She did not stir, only winning her father's heart more. He turns to Owen, seeing an equally lovestruck look on his face. 

"She's _here_."

"Amalie, we can never repay you."

Shaking her head, Amalie offers him a warm smile. "I never asked for anything in return, Owen. You know that. Just a good, loving home for her."

"Are you sure?"

Turning to Curt, who is having to fight his way through happy tears, she nods. "Positive. Now, that's enough about me, the both of you. Nelle's the star of this show. Say hi to her."

Owen hesitates, looking down at the sleeping babe. "Can we?"

"I think meeting her fathers justifies an early wakeup call, "she says, gesturing with her hand to the crib. "She has to wake up to feed soon anyway. Go for it, and hold her like we practiced!"

There is an incredible delicateness to how Curt goes to pick up Nelle. Though wrapped up like a burrito, he is hyper-aware of how fragile she is and how important it is he provides her every support and care in this time. Careful to support her head and bottom, he gently scoops her out of the crib and into his arms. To his absolute shock and delight, Nelle opens his eyes as soon as she's nestled in. Owen, previously hiding his emotions, cannot help but let a tear fall at the sight. 

"Hi Nelle," Curt coos, softly laughing in spite of himself. "It's your Dad, here. Gosh, I've been waiting so long to meet you, sweetheart."

Stepping forward to meet Curt's side, Owen places a hand on his shoulder and peers down at Nelle. She blinks with wide eyes at him, gurgling a bit as babies do. It makes him smile and melt all at once.

"And I'm your Papa," he says, meeting Curt's tearful gaze. "Happy Birthday, darling girl."

"You know, you look a lot like your Papa. You've got his eyes and nose."

Gazing back at Amalie, Owen grins. "Got your mother's hair, though. Look at those wispy blonde things peeking out of your cap!"

Curt and Amalie share giggles. After they pass, he bends down and presses a kiss to the top of Nelle's bonnet. "We love you so much, sweetie. Your Papa and I are going to take such good care of you. You're going to be so spoiled."

Owen tuts and gives her a soft poke to her cheek. It earns another gurgle. "Not too spoiled, mind you. But, still very much loved."

"How lucky are you to have two of the world's greatest, er, _gentleman_ , to protect you and care for you?"

Smirking at Curt, Owen shakes his head. "Crafty, love. But yes, you shall never worry about safety as long as we're around. We promise that, darling. Never forget it."

"Not to break up the party," Amalie says, causing both men to turn to face her, "but it is her feeding time. Would you like to learn how? I have some milk already ready for her."

Grinning at each other, and then down at Nelle, Curt and Owen nod. 

"We would like nothing more."


	13. Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, a high school AU featuring our favorite redhead, Tati :D Please let me know what you think!

"He likes you, you know."

Slamming his locker shut, Curt whipped around to his friend Tatiana. Red hair in a long braid, she gazed at him through narrowed eyes and a raised brow, egging him into proving her wrong. Instead of doing so, he shushed her loudly and placed a hand on her shoulder, keeping her from running off and saying more.

"Keep your voice down, Tati! Damn you, what if he passed by and heard you?"

Prying Curt's hand off of her with two fingers, Tatiana glowered at him. "You make too many assumptions at how much people eavesdrop, Curt. Besides, do you not want him to know? Everything I've heard you say about that British transfer boy has made me suspect you have a crush. Telling him would do better than sulking."

Curt sighed and leaned against the lockers. His eyes warily fell back to Tatiana's scrutinizing gaze, conveying his plight all-too-well to her. "You're right, but I can't. I can't risk it."

"Why? It's not like you are friends."

"If I confess that he makes me feel like I can't breathe every time he looks at me, and he isn't even _gay?_ I might as well jump into the school dumpster and set it on fire."

"That seems dramatic," Tatiana huffed, joining him against the locker. Curt shot her a glare.

"You just," he sighed, "you wouldn't understand, okay? There's a lot more riding on this than possible hurt feelings. My entire reputation here is at stake."

"You happen to know so little of your own friend, Curt."

"What?"

Turning to him, Tatiana pulled out her phone. After a few clicks and some scrolling, she handed it over to him without a word. He took it and was shocked to see a picture of none other than Tatiana herself making out with another girl. Not just any girl, though -- Barbara Larvenor, the girl from sixth period who used to have a crush on him. His eyes went wide, causing Tatiana to laugh.

"I know more about this, how you say, _game_ , than you think I do," she explained, returning the phone to her jacket pocket. "Whispering your adoration of him to me does little good for you in the long run. You should be whispering it to him. And if he gives you flack? Let's just say, I learned a few things back in Russia. He can pay."

Curt swallowed. "I don't know if I'm ready."

"There is never a good time to do it. You just do." Tatiana offered him a soft smile and a pat on the shoulder. She then picked up her bag from by her feet and slung it over her shoulder, leaving Curt alone on the cold metal of the lockers. Winking, she saluted him and walked away. He watched her go with a pile of dread in his gut until the final bell rang and startled him into reality.

_After school, I'll do it. After._

~~~~~~

He was a pile of nerves all day. 

Each class he was in, Curt could not stand still. His mind was all Owen Carvour, _Owen, Owen, Owen,_ making little room for Calculus or Roman literature. He agonized over how it might go and what he might say. He plotted where he would ask him instead of points on graphs. And when he stepped into last period biology and saw Owen sitting at the front, in perfect view for his little crushing heart to admire as they watched an educational movie? Well, he was a goner. Any chance at education was tossed out the window the moment he watched Owen shake out his hair and adjust his jacket. 

It made him all the more nervous when the time came to ask him.

He waited until Owen left the room. He watched with no breath at all as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed his book in hand. The second he was out the door, Curt scrambled to do the same, nearly knocking into a desk in the process. He hurried out to the hall and looked around, locating how far Owen had gotten since. Sure enough, he had only made it a third of the way to his locker. He had not lost him yet.

It took some bobbing and weaving past unruly classmates and teams bringing out their practice equipment, but soon, Curt had his target in sight. Owen was at his locker. He was depositing his book in and filling his backpack, blissfully unaware and minding his own business. He also, conveniently, was alone. It was exactly how Curt wanted him. 

Rubbing off the sweat from his hands onto his pants, Curt cleared his throat and mustered up the courage to begin his walk over. He took a step, then two, then three, all the way until he was too close to Owen to turn back. To his luck, Owen noticed him before he had to speak up. His chestnut eyes watched him, observing him like he was some sight he had never seen before. Setting his bag down at his feet, he gently shut his locker. 

"Hi."

"H-Hi," Curt stammered out. Gosh, talking was hard.

"Do you need something?"

"I have something to tell you." Wincing, Curt clutched at his backpack straps a little tighter. That was not the phrase he had chosen in his plan to start on, dammit! He cleared his throat. "Sorry, that uh, that sounded dumb. Can we, erm, maybe talk somewhere? I-If you have nowhere else to be, that is. If you do, we can totally push this to another time. I honestly should actually be on my way to swim practice right about now. Maybe I should go there. Yeah, actually, I'll go there, sorry to bother-"

 _"Hey."_ Owen's voice is calm. The sound of it and the accent he's swooned over countless times stops Curt in his tracks. "It's alright. I've nowhere to be and you don't need to scurry anywhere. Would the walking trail by the Senior building suffice?"

The walking trail! Why hadn't he thought of that before? It was the perfect place! It was quiet, it was private, it had _lovely_ scenery. If all things worked out well and this was the beginning of something wonderful, it could be the setting for a fantastic memory-

_No._

_Focus, Curt! You're lucky he even suggested talking to you!_

_Oh god, you haven't said anything for a while and he's staring at you. Go! Say yes, dummy! Say anything!_

"S-Sure," he managed, swallowing hard after. If Owen noticed it, he did not comment, instead offering a small smile. Picking up his bag, he gestured with his head for Curt to follow him. It took a second for Curt's brain to fire, but when it did, he hustled to Owen's side. He tried his best to meet his every stride.

"Your name is Curt, right?"

 _You didn't even introduce yourself! What the hell, Curt!_ Blushing profusely, he nodded, gripping his backpack straps ever tighter. "Y-Yeah. Curt Mega."

"You share biology with me," Owen commented, casting him a look. "I don't think we've been fortunate enough to be in a group together yet, though."

"No, we haven't."

"It's a shame, really. I've heard your answers in class. You are very competent when it comes to your knowledge of different climates and their ecosystems."

Blushing once again, Curt held the door for Owen to step through. As he passed, Curt nearly fainted. His cologne smelled _amazing._ "T-Thanks. It's about the only part of biology I know."

Owen chuckled -- a glorious sound. "No need to sell yourself short. I've heard your answers in genetics."

"Not to burst your bubble, but I was cheating off of notes."

"Ah, so you're _resourceful_."

If Curt had not fallen for him before, he surely was head-over-heels after that.

One shared glance and a minute or two of silent walking later, the edge of the trail appeared before them. Curt's heart kicked itself up a few notches as it grew near. He suddenly became very aware of his surroundings, of their lonesomeness, of his still sweaty palms. His throat felt dry. His mind felt blank. He was pretty sure Owen said something to him, but his mind ignored it in favor of panicking. What was his script? Should he even try and salvage the script? What if someone approached mid-script? Was there a convincing backup plan? What would Owen think if he sat there blank, unmoving, without any words at all?

"Curt?"

He let out a shaky breath. "Yeah?"

"We're at the trail."

Blinking, Curt looked up. The gateway, reading ' _Chimera High Trail_ ,' stared back at him. They were there. It was time. He could puke.

"What is it that you need to tell me, love?"

_Love._

_Love!_

_LOVE???_

Well, _that_ successfully rendered Curt's brain useless. Eyes transfixed on Owen in the midday sun, he struggled to force thoughts into fruition. What he could get out came as more of a mumbled whisper than words.

" _I'mreallyscaredandreallyunsurehowtosaythissoI'mjustgonnasayitandhopeyoudon'thatemesouh_ ," he paused, gathering air. " _Ilikeyoualotandwaswonderingifyou'dgooutwithme?_ "

Curt wondered, as Owen gave him a blank stare, if perhaps his phrasing had made his words too indecipherable for him. Maybe he was not thinking over Curt's proposition, but instead trying to figure out if there was a proposition to begin with. In all honesty, Curt could barely remember what he said. There was a confession _somewhere_ in there, but did Owen know where? Would he have to say it _again?_ Oh god, _could_ he say it again? Curt felt panic rise in his chest. He opened his mouth to begin the slew of apologies he knew was waiting to explode out.

Owen stopped them before they could begin with a kiss.

_Love._

When Curt pulled away a few moments later for air, he thought he had died and gone to heaven. Whatever look that left on his face, it was funny enough to make Owen laugh. He ran a hand through his hair, bashful.

"I don't know if that was the answer you were looking for, but was it good enough?"

It was Curt's turn to laugh. "I think it answered me and then some. H-How did you know? Did you know?"

Owen beamed at him, positively blinding. "I might have caught you staring once or twice. Your friend was also very enlightening."

Curt gasped. "Tati _told_ you?"

"Don't be too down on her," he urged. "It was more like she did not deny my suspicions when I came asking."

"So you like me?"

Shrugging, Owen looked around. "I don't see another boy I'm kissing, do you?"

"Shut up." Owen shot another dazzling smile his way. "I'm serious. You like me?"

"If the comments I made about you in biology were not indication enough, you caught my eye a long time ago," he confessed. "I fancied you from afar and tried to leave hints, but clearly they weren't good enough if you were frightened to speak to me."

“I'm sorry."

"Oh, no, it's no worry," Owen assured, placing his hand on Curt's arm. He was warm to the touch, which comforted him immediately. "It's all in the past. Look, let's start off fresh with that date you mentioned, yeah? Get to know each other properly. Do you like milkshakes, Curt?"

Even if he didn't, he would have said yes. "They're delicious."

"There's a delightful diner downtown with supposedly fantastic milkshakes that I have been dying to try out. Would you care to join me there tomorrow night, around seven perhaps?"

"I'd love to," Curt replied, and he meant it. He knew the exact diner and knew for a fact the milkshakes were amazing. Getting to share the time, and perhaps a shake, with Owen was beyond what he could have asked for. Catching Owen's smile grow, he felt on top of the world.

"It's a date then, love."

Watching Owen take his hand and press a kiss to it, it finally hit Curt.

"It's a date."

_It's a date!!!_


End file.
